


Castigatio

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Play, Cock & Ball Torture, Consensual, Crying, Enthusiastic Consent, Flirting, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Roleplay, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 02:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16338098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: “So explain to me,” Steve says, “and I mean give meone good reasonI should let you get away with that shit you pulled today.”





	Castigatio

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a chapter about an new sexual avenue for Steve and James. It's not strict BDSM, most of what goes on is kind of light, and everything is consensual. Proceed with caution if you need to :) And thanks **Nacho for helping me with hyperlinks.**

“Shame you can’t just stay with me today,” Steve says, from the bed.

If you’d told James three years ago not even that he’d be _dating_ Steve Rogers, just that he was being woken up at six in the morning for marathon sex, he would have not only have asked what porno they were watching but also asked them how that hell that would be possible considering he’d murder anyone dumb enough to wake him at six. Still though, having a boyfriend who takes a thirteen mile run for fun each morning and _then_ comes home to fuck James senseless? Yeah, jackpot.

But also, senseless isn’t far off.

“Please,” James says, pulling his pants on over his underwear, “I’m not sure I’d remember my name past nine o’clock if I did.”

Steve laughs warmly, delighted, and flings his arm up over his head. He looks like a fantasy - has a habit of doing that, actually, but maybe that’s just because James’ every fantasy is Steve - and absolutely knows it, painted in very early morning light, sheet barely covering his modesty, golden stubble on his jaw, lips swollen, eyes half closed. He looks like a Calvin Klein ad, or a sculpture or something. Not-quite-real even though James has just managed to get back onto his feet from Steve showing him how real he actually is. Repeatedly.

“Anyway,” James tells him, grabbing his shirt, “you know I want to but my floor has the annual departmental ‘These Are Your Emergency Warning Systems’ refresher course today and we’re not allowed to miss it. It’s mandatory so if I don’t have it today, I have to-”

“Hey, really?” Steve says, and James turns around to see that Steve has sat up a little in bed, looks more curious than seductive. “That’s today for you?”

“Yep,” James nods. “That’s today for me.”

Steve beams.

“ _I’m_ on EWS refreshers today,” he says. “Who’d you have last time?”

James blinks.

“You are?” he says. “We had Falcon. You are?”

“Yep,” Steve grins. “So I’ll get to see you today.”

James rolls his eyes as he buttons the shirt.

“Yeah, along with everyone else on my floor.”

“Mm, that’s right,” Steve says, “but nobody else on your floor gets to choose what I wear.”

James’s eyebrows go up, he feels it - he knows what Steve means but-

“Within reason,” Steve says and, even though he knew he wouldn’t get to ask Steve to show up half naked, it’s still a disappointment.

“Aw,” James says, and Steve gets up from the bed and comes over, wraps his arms around James and kisses him. “Uniform pants and that really nice, tight running shirt?”

Steve’s mouth twists.

“You’re asking me to do that because your floor has some of the hard-drives,” he says, “aren’t you?”

Because server rooms need cooling, and James’ whole floor is a good few degrees lower than most of the other floors. Which means-

“Yes,” James says. “Absolutely.”

Steve scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, looks up and tilts his head, making a show of thinking about it.

“I will accept your one-layer running shirt in a cold room,” Steve says, “in exchange for no underwear.”

James narrows his eyes.

“I will adhere to no underwear,” he says, “if I get to come home to Commander ‘Oops-I-Forgot-My-Shirt-Entirely-Once-I-Came-Home.’ ” 

“Oh, _Commander_ Oops-I-Forgot-My-et-cetera. Does that mean you want orders to follow?”

Hmm, what a nice idea.

“Safewords as usual?” James says. 

“Pistols at dawn,” Steve answers.

“Insult to injury?”

“Don’t give up the day job.”

James laughs, and rolls his eyes as he pushes away. 

“Fine,” he says, “anyway, _apparently_ I have to go take off my underwear.

Steve pouts, naked as the day he was born, and hooks his fingers in the front of James’ waistband, tugs once.

“Hop to it then, kiddo, or we’ll both be late.”

James goes into the bathroom.

***

By eleven, which is when James’ department is scheduled for the EWS Refresher, James is only not-regretting his decision because he knows what it gets him. Trying to feel confident and suave in a suit when you’re not wearing underwear though? Not exactly as thrilling as he’d like. More sort of unexpectedly embarrassing. He’s alright until he stands up, and then there’s the sudden, jarring reminder that he’s going to be pretty freaking obvious if he thinks too much about Steve without a shirt, or if he tries to jog to the milkshake bar instead of walking sedately.

Like it’s kind of hard to concentrate on work when sometimes you have to go and stand next to your best friend who’s sitting down and whose head is subsequently at a very specific height, or when you sometimes have to walk briskly to someone else. Jangling is not a verb James usually partakes in. Still, turnabout’s fair play, and it’ll save time later-

Okay, no, don’t think about that, think about math, think about math.

The whole department ups and moves pretty much as a unit, ‘cause the tower sends everyone a message to their screens simultaneously. So everyone heads to the allotted conference room and shuffles in and settles down - most of the people in today are people who’ve been in before, but there are a couple of new people who’ll be getting this for the first time.

Steve is standing at the front of the room, and it does change peoples’ attitudes. They’re not as loud inside the room as they were outside it, not as unsettled, not as distracted. People used to call it the uniform - except that here Steve is not in uniform, still commanding the same respect. The uniform has a je ne sais quoi, sure, but it’s the man inside that makes the difference, whomever that man might be. (There’s a reason Sam Wilson is so effective as Captain America, and it’s not because he wears the same colors Steve always did.) 

Steve wears his uniform pants, yeah, with the red stripe and the boots, but he also wears a pale gray tee, a running tee, so it’s lycra blend. Which is very tight and looks amazing. As do both demonstrations of the cooler air that the shirt showcases very nicely thanks. James knows Amy’s totally noticed, he saw the look on her face.

James doubts he’s the only person to notice, but he’s the only person who’ll get to follow up later.

Once everyone’s settled, Steve smiles, and James wonders how cold he is, if the shirt is irritating or not-irritating, if he feels it every time he moves-

Think about math.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your annual emergency response reminder,” Steve says, and James settles in, looks his fill. “Those of you who've been working in the building for a couple years will be very familiar with our procedures and my jokes, but instructions don't always stick the first time, and you've got the distinct disadvantage in working in the headquarters of an international first response unit that I'm in charge of, so you'll all have to suffer through this with me and laugh when appropriate.”

There’s a smattering of laughter - nice, comfortable, polite, the kind that says ‘oh he’s _not_ a dick,’ and James knows the feeling he feels about it is pride. And maybe a little big of smugness too because like, hello, he’s dating that.

“There are five possible main alarms you may hear while at work in this building, the Crespo Tornado Early Warning System notwithstanding,” Steve says, and boy, wasn’t that difficult to get instated in the first place. 

It’s with this, however, that Steve points at the ceiling - actually, maybe he’s just holding up a finger for silence, James’ll have to ask him later. 

“The first is this,” he says, and Jarvis begins to play the noise that’s always reminded James of the fasten-seatbelts tone on a plane, just a nice, repetitive note every second or so. “Single tone, repetitions every one-point-five seconds,” Steve says. “While loud and inconvenient, you get to ignore this one, 'cause it’s only for on duty Avengers.”

The noise stops.

“The second is this,” and this is one James doesn’t like - this is the one that means all-in, regardless of whether you’re on duty or not - this is the first of the sounds that have the potential to really fuck up their days off. “It's similar to the first one, but it has two tones a fifth apart, alternating, at twice the speed. While just as loud and slightly more inconvenient, this is also nothing to do with you. This is for all available Avengers, on duty or otherwise. You may also hear this.” And, James thinks, he’s very privileged that he hears this noise more often than his yearly refresher - that’s a sound he’s heard in his own home. “That sound is a small GPS communications unit that's been sewn into my jacket,” Steve says, “which is essentially a beeper if I'm not within the confines of the tower should this particular alarm activate. You’ll probably never hear this unless I happen to run past you in a grocery store. Incidentally, if you see me running, get out of the way.”

There’s a little more laughter, a couple of people smile - it’s a joke, of course it is. Steve’s well aware of the old PSA posters that were brought out following the battle of New York, of which “if you see Captain America coming, get out of the way” was one of the most famous - not least because of the phrasing. James has _got_ to remember that for later use, it’s imperative.

“Your third alarm,” Steve says, and here his smile fades, “and the first pertaining to you, is this. It's a classic bell, and it's used for a fire alarm. If you hear this, proceed calmly according to your drills to the building's staircases and descend to street level before leaving the building entirely. Do not use the elevators in the event of fire. Do not take your belongings with you. Do not go back for colleagues - they’re in Avengers tower, it’s our job to get them out, not yours. Meet at the fire assembly points assigned to you by department – these are not anywhere near the building, that's by design, not an error.” 

James knows where his is. His is all the way out at Pershing Square and East 41st Street, because there’s plenty of road to run down if the surrounding buildings collapse. Such is life if you live in New York - and New Yorkers aren’t the type to leave just because of a little inconvenience.

“The fourth alarm is this sound with this lighting,” Steve says, and James hates this noise. It’s like the red alert on the original series of Star Trek, except way worse, a whoop-whoop sounds that’s incessant and creepy all at once, along with lower lights, and Jarvis’ guidelines on the floor. “This repeated rising sound is meant to be just as annoying as it sounds. You may also hear this sound with it.”

“ _Evacuate the building immediately,_ ” Jarvis says. _“Proceed to central hub in an orderly fashion. Evacuate the building immediately. Proceed to nearest staircase immediately. Et cetera._ “

“Thank you, Jarvis. This is one of two alarms that we do not drill with. Let me clarify for you – we run a drill, but we do so with the sound of an everyday alarm clock, like so,” ugh, no, please, every digital alarm clock James ever had growing up. “But you will hear this sound in one two scenarios – your yearly refresher course, hi, how you doin', good to see ya, or, when this alarm is sounding for real.

“If you are hearing this outside this demonstration, stop what you are doing immediately, and follow the instructions relayed to you via speaker, computer, television, SMS and/or member of staff. Do not take your belongings with you, do not go back for colleagues, do not, under any circumstances, deviate from given instructions. You are working in the Avengers headquarters – your life may well depend on those given instructions.”

Steve takes a deep breath and so does James, because he knows what’s next. It’s the stuff of nightmares, is what it is - every creepy online story about nuclear disaster, every retro show and videogame set in the fifties, ingrained in James from an early age. The last alarm? Yeah, good luck against whatever _this_ signals.

“The next noise is this,” Steve says, not a trace of good humor or kindness, “and it's not a fun one. This long, unbroken tone is the most important of the signals you may hear within the tower, and signifies one of the most dangerous scenarios. This sound denotes an immediate emergency without warning and instructions will hopefully be provided. This particular siren may or may not be exclusive to the floor you're on but, best case scenario, follow relayed instructions. In the worst case scenario, use your desks as shelter and wear the emergency equipment provided. This is the other alarm that we do not drill with.”

And then it plays. It’s a dual-tone sound, no wavering, no up and down, no change or shift, just a long, drawn out, endless discordant hum ringing out into the absolute silence of the room. It is _terrifying,_ the way recordings of the old Carter air-raid sirens are terrifying, the way the old Chrysler fifteen-minute-warning sirens are terrifying. It’s even been designed, Steve said once, to play at a particular frequency that induces discomfort, like nausea, to make sure you can’t ignore it.

“As before,” Steve says, “ _you_ are the highest priority. No belongings, no deviation, it could save your life.”

He looks around.

“In the time that I have been living in this century, which is now fifteen years, I have heard each of these alarms once or twice a year, usually used as pre-emptive precaution should we be made aware of incoming attacks. However, I have seen three occasions on which these alarms saved employee lives. While it's unlikely you're in trouble even if you hear these, you must always act as though you are, and be aware that you must follow instructions.”

The room is silent. Nobody’s tittering now. One or two people look ill, one definitely looks like he’s about to cry or something, but that’s the point. That’s what those sounds are made to do. Unnerve you, get you to pay attention whatever you’re doing, make sure you want to leave, make sure you’re frightened enough to pay attention. They’re the noises to say _listen now if you want to survive_ and they’re awful, they’re creepy as fuck, but they’ll do the job. 

“You are, of course, not obligated to remain in your employment should you find that this is an unacceptable risk to you,” Steve says. “However, if you choose to stay, it's advisable you familiarize yourselves with the five sirens of this workplace in the event that you need to respond to them.”

And then he holds his finger up again.

“On-Duty Avengers Assemble.”

That single repeating tone.

“All Avaialble Avengers Assemble.”

The dual repeating tones.

“Fire.”

The bell.

“Evacuation.”

The whoop-whoop sound that turns James’ stomach.

“Duck and Cover.”

The scratchy, empty-apocalyptic-landscape hum. One of the people near James covers her mouth with her hand.

When the sounds stop, Steve waits a few seconds, looking around the room, and then he visibly brightens.

“By the way, if you hear the Crespo Tornado EWS, follow the fire procedure but head for the bunkers. Any questions?”

A couple of hands go up, and James settles in. It’s mainly new people asking - although one just asks about the sound design, to which Steve smiles and tells her to direct those questions to Jarvis or Mr Stark, both of whom can be emailed via the office intranet. Although, Steve says, only one of them is liable to respond.

Someone else asks what constitutes a Duck-And-Cover scenario, and Steve goes over the last few disasters to have hit the world. The Alien invasion of New York, the Ballistic Missile false alarm in Chicago back in ‘22, the New Zealand earthquake in ‘11.

“Basically anything that’s big and dangerous and we didn’t get a warning for. You’d hear that siren in the event of nuclear attack, for example.”

James wishes, as most of the people whose faces he can see appear to also wish, that the guy hadn’t asked, but there we go.

Somebody asks for an autograph too and, yeah, that’s fair - James got in line when someone asked the Falcon.

“Absolutely,” Steve says, “at the end of the session we can do that, sure.”

And James…James almost considers leaving. He’ll see Steve later, they’ve both got lives and jobs, but then he takes a look at how nicely that shirt fits again and how cold poor Steve must be feeling. And yeah, he’ll take an autograph, thanks. At the very least, it’ll help stop Amy getting suspicious - she’s seen his poster, she knows he’s a Captain America nut, _and_ a Steve Rogers nut. If he left now, she’d know something was up for sure.

~

Steve finishes fielding questions and gets to autographs and the line isn’t long but it’s moving relatively slowly. There are only maybe twenty of them in the line but Steve talks to everyone, of course he does, and James surreptitiously unbuttons the cuff of his left shirtsleeve while he waits.

“Oh my God,” Amy says to him, quietly. “He’s so hot, what do I even say?”

James snorts.

“I have no idea,” he says. “But try not to be weird about it. Like I’m terrified I’ll tell him something stupid by accident.”

“Oh, I could tell him you have his poster!” Amy says, and James rounds on her.

“You do and I’ll tell him you’ve got his action figures.”

Amy frowns.

“I don’t?”

“And how’s he gonna know?”

Amy narrows her eyes.

“Fine,” she says. “But oh my _God_ what do I even _say_?”

James shrugs.

“Just say hi, see if he says anything first.”

Amy covers her eyes with her hand, then her mouth, then she hugs herself. Then she smacks James in the arm.

_“Āiyā, Wǒ yīnggāi shuō shénme?”_

He laughs.

“I said I don’t know! Just say hi!”

She rolls her eyes, sighs hugely at him.

By the time they reach the table, Steve has a sharpie. James doesn’t know if he had it to start with but he’s wound up with one now, and James waits until he’s standing directly in front of the desk Steve is at, waits until Steve looks up at him, waits until Steve registers who he is, and then rolls up his sleeve.

“I don’t have any paper,” he says. “Is this okay?”

Steve stares at him for maybe just a moment too long, and then slowly settles in to sign the inside of James’ forearm. He frowns a moment later, and uses one massive hand to hold James’ wrist, turning his arm to better access soft, pale skin. He glances up at James as he pulls the cap off with his teeth, and then he very carefully - and surprisingly gently - signs ‘Steve Rogers’ in looping writing, so that it takes up about four inches in length. It’s beautiful.

“Don’t get it tattooed,” he rumbles, looks up from under his lashes. 

“Spoil my plans,” James says, and Steve still hasn’t let go of his wrist - he’s holding it just tightly enough to reinforce the fact that he could stop James leaving easily, if James were so inclined.

He’s very good actually, because as soon as Amy shifts - which means that someone who isn’t James can see Steve’s face - any trace that Steve knows James is _gone_. He might as well be a stranger except for the fact that his very warm fingers are still holding on to James.

“Is that all?” he says, a slight turn to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” James says, and then, deliberately, “thanks, Cap.”

Steve’s eyes narrow just a little but he’s smiling nonetheless.

“I look like Sam Wilson to you?”

“You look like you could use a jacket to me,” James retorts, and something changes - James can’t pinpoint what it is but suddenly he feels like he ought to be sweating, feels like he’s been caught and pinned.

Steve laughs, low, soft, very much just for the two of them.

“That’s what happens if I forget an undershirt on a floor with server rooms,” and there Steve goes again, surprising James by saying things without preamble, just the way he does when-

_Think about math!_

“How long’ve you worked here?” Steve says. “I’m sure I’ve seen you once or twice.”

“About three years,” James says. “Just. I turned twenty-one in March.”

 _So I’m legal_ hangs in the air unspoken and it’s strange - they’ve been together months but this still feels like the conversation they had in the coffee bar, it’s deliberately like the conversation they had in the coffee bar, and…does this count as role play? It’s certainly doing things for James.

“So you finished college at eighteen?” Steve says, not taking the bait. “Impressive. I never got that far myself. I appreciate the work you guys do.”

“Thanks,” James says, and then hedges his bets. “Don’t catch cold.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” Steve answers, in a tone that suggests James very much ought to be worrying for himself.

It’s way more than a thrill, here, in front of colleagues. 

Holy shit, maybe James _does_ want to go public.

James gives Steve a gracious smile, and Steve lets go of James’ arm. 

Amy’s next, and she has a notebook with her - James sees her _just_ manage to flip the notebook to the page she hasn’t been doodling on before she puts it down in front of Steve, but the slight twitch James sees Steve make suggests he can tell somehow anyway.

“Amy, isn’t it?” Steve says. “I met you and this guy and another guy at that bar the other week.”

Amy squeaks, then frowns.

“How…?” she says, and Steve-

James sees Steve realize as James realizes himself - fuck, they never introduced themselves, how’s Steve gonna get away with knowing her name?

“You were next to…James is it?” Steve says, without missing a beat, glancing at James. “When Tony fixed my tablet a couple months ago. You two were both around, and he tells me your progress on your current project is impressive.”

 _Nice save!_ James tries to convey with his eyebrows. 

Steve ignores him.

“Oh,” Amy says. “Oh wow, yeah it is - uh, wait, I mean-”

Steve gives her what James considers to be his most disarming smile.

“It’s alright, I know what you mean,” he says, “but don’t be so modest - Tony wouldn’t know who you two are, and your manager too, if you didn’t impress him.”

James blinks. Is that true? _Does_ Tony Stark know who they are?

“Wow,” Amy says. “Uh.”

Steve signs her notebook, hands it back to her.

“Thank you!” she breathes.

Steve smiles.

“ _Wǒde róngxìng,_ ” he answers, then winks. “Heard you talkin’ to him in Mandarin in line over there.”

Amy nods, then turns away and walks to James, jaw dropped.

 _Oh my god!_ she mouths, and James just chuckles, and rolls down his sleeve as they leave.

***

James knows he’s in trouble - like not _actual_ trouble but ‘I’ve been naughty and you should punish me' trouble - when he sees Steve walking back to the elevator bank. Steve only glances in his direction, but that’s all he needs to do. Half the people on the floor are watching Steve Rogers walk back to the elevators, but only James will get to take the same elevator later today on only James knows that the heat in that look is meant for him. On top of that, Steve tugs at the collar of his shirt, and then the fabric over his chest, as though he’s too hot and it signals - wordlessly, in front of everyone but just for James - that Steve will be holding up his end of the bargain.

James does his utmost not to think about it.

“James,” Amy says, “oh my _God_ , James, did you _see_ that?”

“Huh?” James says, because if she means something recent, or close to him, or not-Steve? Then haa no.

“He’s bisexual,” Amy says. “Like, _confirmed_ bisexual, out.”

“Right?” James says. “So?”

Amy locks her screen, rolls her eyes and wheels her chair right up next to James’.

“So did you _see the way he looked at you?_ ”

James laughs, can’t help it - yes he did, sees it every morning, in fact - but he has to find a way to cover it up so, instead, he says,

“You think I have a chance with Steve Rogers?”

Amy raises her eyebrows, looks over her shoulder at where Steve left a few moments ago.

“I think you should maybe have a piece of paper the next time he’s signing autographs,” she says, “and make sure you put your number on it.”

***

James is practically buzzing by end of day. He manages to get into the elevator without embarrassing himself but he’s half-hard by the time it reaches Steve’s floor, and he nearly walks face-first into the doors as they open in his haste to get out.

When he reaches the front door, he knocks. 

There’s no answer for a moment, and then Jarvis says, 

_“Good afternoon, Mister Barnes. The Commander has requested that you both proceed in a manner befitting your respective employment positions, rather than your relationship status. This is to provide roles for you, the parameters of which you are both able to understand, as a means to establish a fictional scenario. If this is agreeable to you, you need take no further action except to follow your usual preparative routine. The front door is open.”_

James stares open-mouthed at the door and tries not to let his legs give out.

Okay so-

Okay so wow-

James is finding it a little hard to breathe.

“Charlie,” he says. “Please tell Steve ‘Charlie.’”

There is a short pause, and then Jarvis says,

_“Please proceed to the en suite and, from there, one of the spare rooms, which I will indicate to you with wall-markings following your ablutions. It will be serving as the Commander’s office for the duration of the scenario.”_

James is totally breathing, of course he is. 

“Thanks,” he manages.

 _“You are most welcome,_ ” Jarvis answers. 

And then James pushes open the door.

The living room is empty, and James’ nerves are already humming. He puts his bag down, takes his shoes off. He takes his socks off, too, shoves them into his shoes, and then he goes to take a shower.

~

When he’s done - and he takes a little time as possible - he gets back into his clothes. Or, at least, he puts back the clothes he was wearing when he came in. Pants, shirt, tie. He puts his hair up in a bun, too, in case it needs to be out of the way (God, he hopes so) and then he steps back out into the hallway and follows the line Jarvis is already projecting.

His shirt sticks a little to skin that’s still slightly damp, and his hair is dripping a wet patch onto his collar, but the ink on his forearm hasn't run, and he really _really_ couldn’t care less about the rest. He’s clean (and maybe just a little prepped as well, come on, he’s dying here,) and so completely ready to do whatever Steve is planning. He doesn’t even care what it is - he’s totally up for it.

When he reaches the door to the spare room, he knocks twice and Steve’s voice answers but it’s…

James swallows hard - it’s not his Steve voice, it’s his Commander Rogers voice, and it’s rough and commanding and _how does he do that_?

“Come in?” his voice says, and James does, turns the handle and steps inside and…

The room is sparse, to say the least. There are no pictures, no ornaments. The bed is a single, made up with sheets in white and gray and made so tightly you could bounce a quarter off it, the window has a blind, which is drawn. It’s how he’d expected Steve’s bedroom to look before he’d ever been in Steve’s bedroom. 

The desk is made of clear acrylic (or maybe glass, who knows in Stark Tower?) and there’s like a paperweight on some notes and a couple of tubes of hand cream and some paperwork, a bottle of water and a candybar, and, in a very plush looking computer chair, sprawled incredibly invitingly in boots, dark uniform pants, dogtags, _the old shield harness_ and _literally nothing else James can see, (!!!!)_ Steve lounges with one arm draped over his thigh, so that his hand hangs between his legs, and the other set with his elbow against the desk, fingers steepled against his temple. 

He’s not using the footstool by the bed behind him.

“So explain to me,” Steve says, “and I mean give me _one good reason_ I should let you get away with that shit you pulled today.”

James takes a long time to answer because he’s too busy looking at the obscene spread of Steve’s legs, immodest somehow despite the uniform pants, at the cut of his torso, framed by the thick, brown leather, at the length of his arms and his hand between his legs because it’s there to draw James’ eye, at the stern, impassive expression on his face and how he’s - literally has he even styled his hair to look more formal? Because he’s definitely shaved oh my god, it’s all short on the sides and spiked up on the top and he looks like he belongs in charge of (he _does_ belong in charge of) a platoon full of guys who’ll drop and give him twenty whenever he demands it.

James’ll drop and give him twenty _something_ whenever he demands it, that’s for sure.

He has no idea what he thinks his brain thinks that means but who cares? Steve has that effect on him.

James isn’t worried in the least, although he’ll certainly do the best job he can of pretending, but he would be if he didn’t know. Steve is-

Steve waits for him to finish staring before he continues. He _lets_ James look his fill (a couple times over actually) and James shakes his head in disbelief. Anybody who ever saw Steve Rogers in the blue uniform with the shield harness wanted to see him in nothing but the shield harness, and here James is, luckiest man in New York State if not the world. Man alive, his _pecs_.

“Oh my god you’re so hot,” James says, and Steve blinks. 

Waits.

_Oh right._

“I,” James says. 

Steve sighs hard through his nose.

“I’m gonna try this again, James,” he says, which, okay, that…feels weird? Why does that feel weird? James ignores it as Steve continues, “and I want an answer this time.”

Steve just raises one eyebrow, so apparently unamused that James might cower were this any other occasion. It’s very much a ‘withering’ look except that it totally doesn’t work right now.

James isn’t sure whether it’s a character thing or a cue but he listens carefully, concentrates on Steve’s mouth- Steve’s _mouth_ \- Steve’s eyes. 

Steve gets up and stalks towards James - he doesn’t often stalk anywhere but James figures that’s probably because he doesn’t want people dropping to their knees or keeling over backwards all over the place because _wow_. God, he’d be the type of guy who could run in heels. 

He comes to stand maybe four feet away from James and James is, predictably, hard as a rock. Steve, however, is not, and James’ mouth actually waters as Steve comes to stand still in front of him with the tags clinking softly against his chest. 

“Tell me why I should let you get away with shit like that, huh?” He takes a step closer. “Because, in my experience, if something goes unreprimanded, it’s liable to happen again. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, Sir,” James says and _oh shit_ , ha, oops, that was out before he thought about it.

“Yes, Sir,” Steve says, not thrown at all, not quite mocking, more like _damn right_. 

And then he starts to move, starts walking around James. James doesn’t move ‘cause he gathers that’s kind of the point. He’s not standing at attention but that’s only ‘cause he’s not sure how you do it - he’s definitely standing pretty straight and tall though.

“Room full of people,” Steve says, “and you think it’s funny to come on over to me and make me look a fool, is that it?”

“No, Sir,” James says ‘cause no, actually, a fool is very far from what Steve looked like-

“No, Sir,” Steve says from somewhere behind James. “Hangin’ around like you got nothin’ better to do, like you ain’t paid a damned good amount to do the kind of job other people would kill for - you think it’s appropriate to be pouring yourself all over my desk in the middle of a workday?”

James bites his lip because ‘pouring yourself all over my desk’ is a lot like ‘bend over my desk’ inside his brain and _wow_.

“No, Sir,” he says.

“No,” Steve says, “Sir. So answer me this,” James can’t see him, so it’s a bit of a shock when Steve’s mouth is suddenly right by his ear. “Tell me, why, give me one good reason - why shouldn’t I do exactly what I ought’a with you, and just teach you a lesson?”

Oh god please teach him a lesson.

James closes his eyes - he’s actually shaking, is the thing.

“I,” he says, and then he has to swallow hard, “can’t think of one,” he says.

“You can’t think of one.”

“No, Sir."

He can feel Steve breathing against his ear, and his whole body tingles with waiting to be touched.

“Hmm,” Steve says, soft and low in his ear. “No, sir.”

He walks past James then, leaves him standing where he is, and goes and sits back in chair, and James gets the feeling he _severely_ underestimated Steve this afternoon. And severely overestimated how much he’d get if he convinced Steve to wander around without a shirt - he’d thought maybe he could get his mouth on Steve, maybe he could get his hands on Steve, but he’s starting to think he’s got quite a way to go before that’s _permitted_ , and that has _way_ more effect on James than he thought it would.

Steve doesn’t lean back in the chair this time, doesn’t sprawl. Instead, he sits on the edge of the seat, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them, with his spine straight and his head up.

“Come and stand in front of me, James,” and that-

Something’s wrong - his skin feels weird and he gets an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, he feels his enthusiasm shrink back.

“N-No?” he says, again without meaning to, but it’s different this time, and he looks at Steve. “I-I mean-”

Steve doesn’t look upset. His whole demeanor’s changed, actually - he looks a lot less displeased and a lot more open.

“You okay?” he says, brow no longer furrowed, clearly aware that James is not.

“Uh,” James answers. “Can…”

James frowns, looks down at his feet and then back over at Steve, and Steve hasn’t moved, is holding a very carefully neutral expression.

“Take your time,” he says softly after a moment or two, and James looks away, looks back at him.

“Can you…” he says, “… _not_ …say my name?”

Steve’s eyebrows raise and he draws a deep breath.

“Sure,” he says. “That’s fine, there’s only two of us. I’ll just call you ‘you’ for now, and we can talk about it later. Would you still like to keep going?”

James nods. 

“Yeah?” he says. “Yeah. I would, yeah, I liked it. The whole- I liked it. Except my name. Yeah. So, I have to come stand in front of you.”

“You’re sure?” Steve says.

“I’m sure,” James answers. “Charlie.”

Steve nods.

“Okay,” he says, and then he changes again, furrows his brow, hunches his shoulders, somehow puts both the heat and annoyance back into his face and his voice. “I said come stand in front of me.”

And yeah, okay. A weight he didn’t know he was carrying lifts off his chest, his breath comes easier. And it’s easy to obey, too - he does as he’s told, can’t even pretend to hide his erection. It gets worse when Steve looks straight at it, and then up at James without moving his head. Like hes saying, _seriously?_

“Sorry,” James says, a little breathless.

Steve shakes his head.

“Not yet you’re not,” he says.

James’ lungs feel quivery.

And then Steve does something James isn’t expecting. He sits back just a little, plants his feet and points to the floor down by his right hand side.

“Stand here,” he says, and James does - frowns but does - and he’s facing Steve.

Steve shakes his head again.

“No,” he says, and then he points to his left-hand side. “Face that way.”

So now James is standing right next to Steve, and facing his nine o’clock? What the hell is Steve-

“Get your dick out your pants, and get over my knee,” he says and James-

Okay, James-

He just about manages not to collapse or come right then, has to put out a hand though and sort of blindly smacks the side of the chair and then holds on for dear life as his legs go weak with want and his stomach tightens and even his ass clenches, God, he’s so easy but he doesn’t care.

“Is that-?” Steve says, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Charlie,” James says, swallows hard and says it again, “Charlie, yes please, God-”

Steve’s expression softens - a lull in the performance - and he lifts a hand and takes James’ free one in his own, tugs just a little and James gets the picture, leans down and kisses him. 

“Right,” James says, “right, yeah,” it comes out a bit smushed together but who even cares.

Then he stands up straight again, takes his hand off the back off the chair. Steve’s expression closes up again and damn he’s good at playing a part, and James takes a deep breath and tries not to smile.

He goes for his fly, gets his hands on his belt and-

“Ah-ah,” Steve says, quietly - he’s so arresting when he’s like this, when every sound he makes is perfectly calculated. “Slowly. Show me.”

James hopes he’s reading it correctly and opens his fly, where his dick presents itself like it heard Steve speaking about it, and then he’s nearly thrusting into thin air when Steve flips up the hem of his shirt - where it rests on his erection - to get a proper look.

He looks so monumentally pissed off that James has a hard-on, why does that make it _better?_

“What the hell is this?” he says, lifting James’ dick at the head, with the tip of one finger, as though it’s something he’s reluctant to touch. “You think this is a joke?”

“Mmmhno, Steve,” James says, should he have said Sir? “I’m- Sorry, I-”

“Take off your tie.”

James swallows hard but lets go of his pants to get his tie. Steve holds out a hand for it and, once James gives it to him, folds it very carefully and puts it down on the desk and James sees- 

That is not a paperweight, fuck. Those are probably not handcreams-

“Open your shirt,” Steve says and James, James’ fingers are making it difficult to unbutton his shirt because they’re shaking and he keeps fumbling.

“Go phrase,” Steve says softly.

“Charlie, Charlie,” James says, breathless, and Steve lifts a hand and closes it around one of James’ wrists.

“Alright, breathe,” he says, “stop on your shirt for a second, sweetheart, look at me.”

James does - his gaze flicks to Steve eventually, and Steve’s fingers slip from around James’ wrist into his palm instead.

“You’re doin’ real good, sweetheart, just hold on a second for me, just take a couple seconds to breathe.”

James nods, tries to take a deep breath in and finds it kind of hitches in his chest.

“Right,” he says. “I’m okay.”

“Hmm, I know,” Steve says, smiling like a dope, he’s got such a nice smile. “How ‘bout you come here and kiss me, huh?”

He tugs on James’ hand until James steps forward and leans down, and then Steve’s other hand comes up and cradles his skull - Steve could probably crush his head in one massive hand but James doesn’t worry about that, he knows he doesn’t have to worry about that. Steve’s hands are so warm and dry (James’ palms are so far from dry) and he’s so gentle with it. James forgets sometimes how gentle you have to be to sketch using charcoal but Steve, Steve’s always gentle.

Even when he isn’t, it’s carefully controlled.

James opens his mouth while they kiss, can’t help wanting to, wants to melt right into Steve, and Steve reciprocates without any kind of hesitation, and somehow he’s letting James do what he wants but he’s still in charge. He hums softly into James’ mouth, how does he do that with his tongue? And he holds James’ head like he’s made of glass, like he’s not sure if James can do it for himself or not.

It’s nice actually, his hands are big and his skin is smooth and it’s nice to- James feels- He feels like the ground is a little bit more there, doesn’t feel quite as ready to come unmoored and float off into the stratosphere. He jumps, hard, when he feels the backs of Steve’s fingers stroke up the underside of his dick, breaks away and look down, and Steve’s just letting it rest there on the back of his fingers, moving just a little. It’s absurd - it’s like he’s trying not to spook the thing, like he’s trying to comfort it.

“Ready?” Steve says, and James looks up just as Steve does and, seriously, were they both just watching Steve comforting James’ dick?

“I’m ready,” James tells him. “Do you want my go phrase?”

“That’s alright, you’ve already told me, unless you’ve changed your mind,” Steve says, and he lets go of James, turns his hand over and, _oh wow_ slides his hand into James’ open pants, cups James’ balls in his hand and gets them out of his fly, too. Then Steve sits back in that same obscene sprawl. “Now. Open your shirt.”

James nods, looks down at his buttons, and starts at the top of the placket. 

When he reaches the hem, he doesn’t really have to pull it out of his waistband, because it’s already hanging loose, what with his pants being open. Steve sits forward again and reaches out with one big hand, sliding it inside James’ shirt at his waist, thumb on his hipbone, before he sweeps his palm up James’ torso and strokes over one nipple with the pad of his thumb.

It feels better than James is expecting, and he bites his lip as he looks down to see, watching the flesh gather and darken. And then watching as Steve’s index finger joins the pad of his thumb. James really ought to guess where it’s going, but he doesn’t, and so it’s a surprise when Steve pinches his nipple so quickly that he doesn’t even react until it’s done, mouth dropping open on a gasp.

“Enjoying this an awful lot, aren’t you?” Steve says, back into the role, and James looks at him, wets his lips.

Steve pinches again, and James’ shoulders hunch inward. The truth is, yeah, he is. Very much, actually - Steve pinching is not a disincentive.

Steve goes back to stroking for a moment or two, but then he sits back again.

“By the bed is a footstool,” Steve says, without looking anywhere but at James, and then he points at the floor down by his left foot. “Set it here.”

James does, holds his pants up with one hand and moves the little step thing to where Steve’s pointing. Then he looks at Steve, who raises an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he says, and comes to stand where he was before, standing perpendicular to Steve, standing where he was told.

“Alright,” Steve says. “Get over my knee with this thing-” he flicks James’ dick with a couple of fingers “-back. So I can see it while I spank you, understand me?”

James does - tries anyway, holding his pants up with one hand until Steve bats his hand away, and then they kind of catch at his hips, partially cinched between his balls and his thighs. He gets his upper body forward, gets his legs against Steve’s and then, just about the time he realizes he’s going to need help, Steve’s putting an arm out for him to lean on.

He helps James lower himself down, and holds him there because-

James notices a few things at once - namely that to be where Steve wants him, his whole upper body is basically down the other side of Steve’s lap.

“C’you reach?” Steve says softly, and James puts his hands down, hands on the footstool if he nearly lifts his feet right off the carpet. “No, okay, hold on.”

There’s the soft _shiff_ of the gas cylinder as the whole chair sinks a good six inches.

“Got it?” Steve says.

James can get his hands on the footstool without a problem now, and his toes and the balls of his feet are comfortably on the floor.

“I got it,” he breathes. 

One very large, very warm palm settles in the small of James’ back.

“If my knees start to dig in, you tell me.”

“Yeah,” James says. 

“Take a few deep breaths,” Steve says, and James does.

He doesn’t know if it’s preparation or a test to make sure that he _can_ breathe, but Steve must be satisfied, whatever the reason, because then he says “Spread your legs,” and James-

Oh wow, James is pretty sure he’s never been this turned on. His dick is bent back between his legs and ramrod straight, resting on Steve’s thigh, which is warm and firm and covered in stiff fabric. Worse than that, there’s cool air on his balls - they’re not crushed against Steve’s leg but it’s impossible to ignore the way they rest where they are, practically displayed with how he’s been told to spread his legs. He’s even still in his pants! And he’s not even over Steve’s lap as much as he’s supporting himself on hands and feet. Steve is letting him have a certain amount of control, letting him know that he’s safe and can stop, but Steve’s not the one with his dick out and James is so turned on he’s still shivery.

“I think we need to make sure you know how to behave when you speak to me in front of other people,” Steve says, hand slipping down onto James’ ass - left cheek first and then over to the right over the fabric, and then gloriously warm skin on sensitive skin as he he settles his palm between James’ legs, right over his balls. It feels like every cell in James skin is reaching up towards Steve’s, as though every bit of blood is rushing toward Steve like a magnet.

James is acutely aware of how vulnerable his most vulnerable places are right now, and drops his head because he can’t stand having his head up, can’t stand the idea that his face might be visible.

“What’s your safeword?” Steve says.

“Eggs Benedict,” James gasps. 

“Stop or go?” Steve asks.

“Charlie,” James says, closes his eyes and gets caught halfway between trying to ignore the fact that he’s so exposed, and absolutely reveling in it.

The first slap is gentler than James expected, but sudden and louder than he would have thought over fabric. Steve’s palm strikes his ass _just_ where it meets his thigh on the right hand side, his hand traveling swiftly upward, and James can’t help the jolt his body gives, the burning heat that rises in his face. 

It doesn’t hurt is the thing, not really. There’s the residual sensation of contact, the sudden press of fabric against his skin, and the mortifying sensation of something new and intimate and definitely arousing - James _likes_ it. That’s the thing - it isn’t painful in the ‘ow stop’ way, it’s painful like Steve pinching his nipple was painful, it’s like sudden heat. Like a sting that’s like…James…James doesn’t know how to quantify it, doesn’t know what the difference is. It hurts but it doesn’t _hurt_ and, by the time he’s got his head around the fact that he’s getting a _spanking_ , Steve’s landed the next one, left side this time, short and sharp and hot and-

James’ breath hitches in his chest, like jumping into cold water - he doesn’t just gasp, it steals his breath, it takes it from his lungs, makes the blood roar in his ears. It makes him feel small, makes him feel like Steve is huge-

The crack of Steve’s palm on the right again steals his breath, leaves a warmth that’s almost cool somehow, and James holds his breath, bites his lip, closes his eyes and pretends to try not to think about the fact that he’s being pinned and spanked like a disobedient child from the fifties.

Another one, left side, and it steals his breath again, makes him jolt, makes his eyes close and his ass clench and his fingers curl on the footstool, toes curling in the carpet, and Steve’s hand is back a moment later, stroking the seam on the seat of James’ pants. James can feel it through the vibrations of Steve’s fingers skittering over the fabric - can’t feel it on his skin because the fabric is stretched tight. If he weren’t wearing pants, Steve’s fingers would be directly over-

James registers the pain and kicks out before he realizes what’s going on - Steve’s tapping his balls with the flat of his fingers, short, sharp little slaps that make it hard to breathe, make James make noise-

“Ah-ah- _ah!_ ”

“Oh, you’re in there, are you?” Steve says, through gritted teeth. “I thought you’d gone to sleep.”

He slaps James’ ass again, and James hears the second blow before he realizes Steve isn’t stopping - left, right, left, right, always short and sharp, always striking upward, and his mouth falls open on something that isn’t a moan and isn’t a cry, and another, again when his lungs can get the air. When Steve stops, it’s to cup the back of James’ neck with his other hand, forcing him to keep his head down where he lifted it involuntarily, his right hand on James’ balls again.

James’ brain doesn’t catch up for a second, another second, nine, ten, Steve- He had _ten_ , Steve just spa- Steve just spanked him _ten times_ and the head of his cock itches where it hangs between his legs, he knows it’s precome gathering at the tip - he’s going to get it on the carpet at this rate.

“St-” he says, and then again on the next breath in, “Steve-”

“Oh this,” Steve says, and he very, _very_ lightly taps James’ balls twice, “this had better be good. What?”

James swallows hard, gasps, and Steve taps one more time.

“The carpet!” James says. “The, I’m,” and then wow, he’s going to have to say this out loud, isn’t he? “I’m going,” he swallows, “to mess up the car- the carpet-”

“Then you’ll get punished for that, too,” Steve says, and actually slaps James’ cock.

James bites back a startled cry, and then Steve’s palm comes up hard on the right side of his ass, hard on the left, James nearly catapults himself of Steve’s lap. 

“Yes or no?”

“Charlie,” James says, and Steve’s hand disappears from the back of his neck and settles in the middle of his back instead.

“I’m not going to ask again,” Steve says, while James thinks about how warm his backside’s getting, “given how much you seem to be enjoying your punishment.” It’s wry but it’s a signal. It’s an unspoken ‘use your safeword or I won’t stop.’ “I’m only stopping if you stop me with your safeword-” _God,_ James is so, so in love, “- ‘cause I’m not going to do anything terrible but I’d imagine I’m ruining the immersion by asking constantly. Stop me if you need to, yell or scream as much as you want.”

Oh, James will, he will, he wants to.

“Please, Sir,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

There is a pause. Steve shifts just a little. Then he’s moving again and James is yanked backwards just a little bit, almost tries to get his feet under him when he realizes that’s not what Steve’s doing - Steve’s yanking his pants down over the curve of his ass, and cool air hitting warm skin only makes James blush harder. He’s still wearing a shirt, he’s got his pants around his thighs, his knees, fuck, his ankles-

He feels more naked in his shirt with his pants around his ankles and his ass presented like a prime fucking ribeye than he does when Steve watches him undress, and his face burns with how good that notion feels.

“I think maybe you’re starting to feel that way,” Steve answers, and then the hand on James’ back moves, his other hand moves, and then James is being spread open, and he bites back another noise, fights the urge to try and close his legs. “At least you prepped right.”

Steve doesn’t even pretend to take his time - James hears Steve suck his finger and then Steve presses his fingertip against James’ hole, pressure that makes James want to clench down on him, and persists until he’s got maybe half a finger in James. He wiggles it, and James can’t help clenching down, can’t help it at all as his head tilts back, up, mouth open as his eyes flutter closed. His ass is warm and his cock is drooling and Steve’s got half a finger inside him and James tries to say ‘oh’ but it comes out stretched and shuddering.

“And here I thought you were sorry,” Steve says.

He withdraws his finger, slides his other arm under James’ chest.

“Spread yourself,” he says, and James does, reaches back with hands that tremble, and spreads his ass, face burning while Steve takes his weight.

Steve _tsks_ at him and then, with the tips of two fingers, he-

James can’t breathe-

“Ah- _ah-ah! Oh-_ St- _Ah!”_

It stings against his hole, sharp and tingling where Steve spanks-

Steve’s spanking his _actual asshole_ and James swallows a lot of air the next time he gulps, digs his fingers in to the meat of his ass in case he accidentally lets go, body twisting over Steve’s lap. Being like this is as good as a blindfold - he’s no idea what he’s getting next ‘cause he’s facing the other way.

Steve stops after a few moments, James couldn’t count that, and does something else-

“Put your hands down,” Steve says, as though it’s obvious and James should have known, and James does, as quickly as he can. 

For a long few moments, neither of Steve’s hands are on him, and he feels the loss of them keenly, skin prickling without him there to ground James. The fabric, the warmth, that James lies across almost doesn’t feel like Steve after the searing warmth of his hands and the careful accuracy of a ‘punishment’ James didn’t even know he wanted. He’s never thought about getting spanked like that before, over his hole and his perineum, and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears with how much it made the adrenaline flow - he liked it, he’s liked all of it and, when something cool and wet and _thick_ presses up against the still-stinging furled skin, he jolts again, can’t help the squeak. It itches, it stings, but all it does is make the muscles in his thighs tighten, make him clench and unclench and clench so hard that he catches the tip of the, the plug, the little hard, cold, wet plug and it isn’t soft like silicone, it’s- it’s metal, it’s metal and it pushes, there’s no give.

He has a moment of panic because it feels big, but then he remembers that Steve feels bigger, that Steve is playing a part and won’t hurt him, that Steve-

James almost wants to struggle, almost wants Steve to pin him down and make him.

“Please,” James says, wets his lips and feels himself blush down to his chest, halfway to ashamed and loving every second, “please, no, Sir, I’m sorry-”

“You’ll take what I tell you to take,” Steve says, and James relaxes his ass though he keeps up the game.

“I, I can’t, Sir,” he says, high and breathy, a thrill like a chill up the length of his spine.

“You will,” Steve says, and James’ eyes roll back in his head as the toy slips in - it’s only short but it’s perfectly shaped, and it sinks in and nudges at James’ prostate and it’s _cold_ but it, does it itch?

Is it stinging?

He clenches down on it when Steve wiggles it, can’t help it as it presses and rubs at James’ prostate, and he finds when he does that it’s followed by a wave of heat and cold on the inside, not just cold where his hole clenches around the metal cinch before the flared base. Steve stops wiggling it, and James tries to breathe, tries to ignore the-

It isn’t burning, but it is a sting-

Steve taps the base hard, three time like knocks on the inside and James clenches down so hard the toy is hot inside him, so hard it’s cold. It’s good though, it stings but James almost wants it to sting more, and it’s hot and it’s cold and suddenly, suddenly James gets it, it’s like ice-

Menthol-

It’s tingle lube, it’s, oh god it’s the worst, it’s the _best_ -

“I told you to take,” Steve says, “not squirm around like a fish outta water. You’ll lie _still.”_

Steve slaps him again, left side and James gasps, can’t help crying out this time as his whole body jumps, this is different from how it was through fabric, more, hotter, each one stings for longer and he’s-

“Ah!”

Right side, and then left and then right, and it feels like he’s lying in a patch of sunlight, feels like Steve’s got a big bright light to examine him, his ass is so hot. His dick gets it next - three short slaps against it that nearly make James whimper and clench down, and then he gets more of that just-shy-of-too-much tapping on his balls and whimpers for real anyway, itching from the inside while the plug presses against his prostate.

“Steve,” he says, “Steve, I-”

The next one’s _hard_ , hard enough to be a shock and it’s _loud_ too, and pain - it’s not even pain, how can it be pain and not pain? - flares across his skin, god, his ass must be so red.

The echo of a noise that’s foreign in his ears fades, coming back off the plain white walls at him, and he realizes _he_ made that noise. He can feel where it grated from his throat, and Steve pauses just long enough - presumably - that if James wanted to object he’d have the time, and then he does it again.

_Crack!_

And James cries out another sound just like it. Steve isn’t hitting the plug, he’s avoiding it on purpose, and James knows Steve’s still holding back but this, this is a proper-

James isn’t a child, and Steve’s been spanking his ass with strength that’s carefully sustained until now, warming his ass up - and James has heard of that but never experienced it. Steve’s been spanking him in a way that’s proportionate to what James can take, but as a game, proportional to what James was expecting. Steve waits the same amount of time and then,

_Crack!_

James’ mouth falls open on the next cry - this, this is so much- _Worse? Harder?_ -more and his dick pulses, hard, fingers tight on the edges of the footstool, toes digging into the carpet. He wants to fuck something, he wants something to fuck him, he just wants friction, just wants something to take the edge off the way his whole body strains for something it’s not getting in response to something it didn’t know it wanted while Steve waits to see if he needs to stop.

_Crack!_

His head comes up as the noise leaves him, and Steve’s fingers wind in his hair, taking hold of the bun and it’s- that doesn’t even hurt, it’s just like, just like his head is heavy and he doesn’t have to be the one to worry about it - and Steve waits and then-

 _Crack!_

This time the noise James makes is harsh, rougher, breaks and shudders and Steve’s holding back still, has to, he’s a supersoldier, but way less than he was before, and the burn of it, the sting of it is so sharp it makes James’ eyes water, so good it makes his breath hitch in the loud silence as Steve pauses-

 _Crack!_ and this time, this time, this time he hears the noise he makes and it’s thick and wet and it’s a noise on the exhale and another on the inhale, and Steve…

Steve pauses.

James sniffs, realizes he’s done it and realizes he’s not going to be able to sit any time soon, and there’s something so strange, so much of a turn on about it. He can stop at any time - it’s not even a real punishment, it’s a game, it’s for _fun_ , and James didn’t even know he could enjoy having fun like this. 

The silence stretches and James can feel the smile on his face, turns his head against the resistance of Steve holding his hair so Steve can see it too, and says,

“Thank you, Sir,” in a voice that’s really more breath than sound. 

He can’t quite see Steve but he can hear Steve release the breath he was holding - still worried even though he waited every time, still worried even though James knows how to use safewords. 

“I love you,” James says, breaths shivering, lashes damp, “God, I love you so much, you take real good care’a me, that was great.”

And Steve’s hand comes down on James’ ass just to touch this time, stroking over skin that’s-

James hisses, _wow_ that’s tender.

“I’m not gonna spank you any more, you wanna call it quits and sit on an ice-pack while I blow you, or stick to the plan?”

James doesn’t even pretend he’s not trying to hump Steve’s thigh.

“Ugh God please say the plan is to fuck me.”

“Actually,” Steve says, stroking his hand over James’ back under the shirt, up his spine and down to the small of his back, “the plan is to make you come and then make sure you come down okay.”

James’ blood roars in his ears, his stomach clenches, his _ass_ clenches, and whatever Steve plans to do better be quick ‘cause James isn’t gonna last long.

“What do I do,” he says, “Sir?”

Steve looks at him, scrunches forward and sideways and down to press a kiss to James’ mouth.

“First you tell me again you’re fine.”

“I’m good,” James says. “Charlie. I fucking love it. I won’t be able to sit _down_ but-”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of that for you. Just…okay.” He sits up again. “Okay, what do you do sir, okay. You, I want you to-” and there it is, there’s the voice “-get your dick between my legs.”

James feels his eyebrows raise but he does as he’s told, pushes up on his hands (and Steve’s arm is under him for support, which is just as well ‘cause his whole body feels like Jello), and shuffles forward just a little. His dick catches on Steve’s thigh because it’s too hard to just drag, and Steve says,

“Nah-ah,” when James goes to lower himself down again, so James waits. 

Steve watches him carefully, waits until he’s sure James can support himself, and then he grabs some lube - James braces himself when Steve gets a great big palmful, but when he slathers it all over James’ dick, James realizes it’s the normal stuff.

“How’s the other stuff?” Steve says, as though he’s reading James’ mind.

“It’s,” James says, “it’s so…I mean…wait, will I need to clean-”

“No,” Steve says softly, giving James’ cock a couple of really loose, really _really_ wet strokes so that James has to bite his lip. The noise is obscene. “It’ll fade, don’t you worry about that. And I’ll clean you up after anyway.”

James resettles himself on Steve’s lap when Steve stops stroking, dick between Steve’s huge, warm thighs, and the fabric may not be rough (it’s fabric designed specifically so that Steve can run at supersoldier speed without chafing) it’s still fabric, and it’s on James’ very, very sensitive dick.

“Right,” Steve says. “Now you can come whenever you please.”

And James turns his head and looks at him. Blinks. And then _gets_ and it _wow_ okay so James basically has to fuck Steve’s thighs with his ass right under Steve’s nose, so to speak, that’s- he feels himself blush all over again.

James bites his lip.

“Thank you, Sir,” he says, finds that it comes out half a moan, and then he figures out what kind of movement he’ll need. 

It’s fairly standard, he decides, he’s just got to be aware of how strong his arms and legs are, oh wow.

He shuffles his feet inward a little, changes his grip on the footstool, and then slowly, carefully, pulls upward against the grip of Steve’s thighs on his cock. 

Steve could kill someone with those. Steve is able to fight like a gymnast, able to break a neck with an accurate twist of his hips while he’s got his legs wrapped around someone’s throat. 

And James has his dick there instead. 

It’s odd, new, rough the way James through it might be, but the shit-ton of lube Steve coated him with means that some has soaked into the fabric and eased the way a little, made it just a little smoother. James is going to be red all over by the time he’s done but it-

 _“Ohn,”_ he says when he lowers his hips down again - it’s like that one time he managed to wedge his fleshlight at waist height in amongst the books on his bookshelf, except horizontal (and, hopefully, James won’t feel mortified afterwards the way he did then, when he realized he was fucking a fleshlight in amongst books that had been written by old academics, some of whom stared disapprovingly at him from their pictures on the spines while he tried to enjoy his post-orgasmic haze).

Also he doesn’t need to worry Steve’s going to fall down on top of him. Some of James’ sexual explorations aren’t exactly stories he’d like anyone to know.

But this, this weird horizontal intercrural sex (does this even count as intercrural?) is so…

“Faster,” Steve says, and James obeys because he wants to, can’t help the little sounds that escape him.

He knows his ass is bobbing up and down in front of Steve, knows it’s red - maybe he even has handprints - knows that Steve’s staring at it because why wouldn’t he, and he’s still got his legs spread so the plug is probably visible, and yet somehow it’s still a surprise when it shifts inside of him. He gives Steve a strangled sort of groan, because of course it’s Steve, and then he finds that Steve’s wiggling the plug while he tries to thrust, and _wow_ is it ever hard to keep a rhythm when Steve’s doing that.

“Beg pardon?” Steve says, and James moans at him, lets all the noise he can feel just roll up from his lungs and straight out of his mouth, closes his eyes and smiles and fucks Steve’s thighs like his life depends on it. 

“Ohh, God,” he groans.

“Taking your time aren’t you?” Steve says, and James bites his lip, thrusts harder. “No, I don’t think so.”

And then there’s a thick, stretching feeling against his rim, and he jerks when the plug comes free - Steve drops it, James knows ‘cause it’s heavy when it lands on the floor - and then two of Steve’s fingers are pressing in instead, and then-

_Oh then-_

“Ah,” James says, hears his voice rise, hears the pitch rise as Steve’s fingers don’t even thrust, they just rub at his prostate, hard, merciless, fast and strong and almost brutal and James- “ah-ahh-ah- Ugh, uhn, Ste- _Steve-”_

“I tell you you can come and you decide to take forever about it? Huh? Give you an inch, you take a mile,” Steve says. “You think you can-”

“Oh, I’m coming, I’m _coming_ -” and he is, he’s coming so hard he can’t breathe, so hard his joints lock, so hard his hips snap down hard against Steve’s thighs, back on his fingers, without his even trying, head back, eyes closed, he’s definitely whining, definitely whimpering, “Ohgod, _oh-”_

Steve keeps him going for a little while, slows down eventually, and then it’s almost a comfort (and isn’t that a weird thought?), just small, gentle little movements inside of him while he rides out the aftershocks.

“God, your _pants_ ,” James says eventually, gasping for breath, reaching back with one hand and then thinking better of it.

Steve snorts.

“Even if my uniform pants weren’t treated with the type of treatment that stops literally anything from staining the fabric,” Steve says, “they’re not even my uniform, I just picked up some blue cargoes.” 

James frowns, looks down the length of his torso to look at Steve’s thigh. No bloodstripe, how about that?

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Steve says, extracting his fingers slowly, “I know you prob’ly don’t feel like movin’ but I wanna get you lyin’ down, take that weight off your ribs.”

“Okay,” James says, and starts to push up from the footstool, but he’s clearly forgotten who he’s dating because Steve preempts him, one hand under James’ hips, the other under his chest, and stands up and is just _carrying_ James all of a sudden. 

James’ dick is definitely feeling the fabric. Understandable considering it’s not super-chafe-proof trouser fabric after all, but who cares? James feels like he’s in the middle of a cloud of cotton candy right about now, and the coolness of the fresh bedding when Steve sets him down on it is absolute heaven. 

“Y’okay?” Steve says, as James folds his arms under his head and looks at him.

“Hmm, yeah,” he says. 

Steve brushes hair back off James’ forehead with his fingertips, tilts his head to look at James at the same angle James looks at him.

“You seemed to enjoy that,” Steve says, and James nods.

“Yeah,” he grins. “You?”

Steve wets his plump lower lip with a flash of pink tongue.

“Ah-huh,” he nods. “Alright, you stay where you are, I’m grabbing some stuff so I can clean you up.”

James mostly stays where he is, but he rolls onto his side a little to watch Steve go towards the en-suite in this room. It turns out to be for the best - when he reaches the desk, he grabs the water and the candy bar and holds them up in a _’ready?’_ kind of way. 

James nods, holds up his hand, and catches them when Steve throws them. It’s not that he’s a good catch so much as Steve did a very good job of throwing them, and James takes a drink of water before anything else, much as he wants the candy bar. He downs half the bottle in the time it takes Steve to come back with wet-wipes.

“On your stomach, baby,” he says, his voice low, and he James does as Steve comes to sit back down.

James is watching what Steve’s doing while Steve gets the wet-wipes out, so it’s a total accident that he makes eye-contact while Steve’s literally spreading his ass to wipe away the excess lube. It’s mainly stopped tingling but James appreciates it anyway. But Steve’s gaze is hot, and James feels he might burst into flames. 

“Takin’ care of me,” he says, very very quietly, and Steve nods, folds the wipe and throws it at the waste-paper basket.

“That’s my job,” he says.

He does all of James - gets the back of his knees and his underarms, holds a nice, cool wipe against the back of James’ neck.

And then there’s another little _snick_ of a click-cap, and James looks back over his shoulder to find that Steve’s getting something in his palm. James absolutely wouldn’t object if it were lube, but it turns out to be something slick and cool and it makes James shiver as his eyes roll back, makes the groan he gives shudder out.

“What’s that?” he says, as Steve’s huge hands spread what feels like a gel all over the still-warm skin of his ass. 

“Aftersun,” Steve says. “Sort of. Feel okay?”

“Feels really good,” James says, and he hides his face in his arms because there’s something even more mortifying about this than everything that came before it. 

For a little bit, Steve just spreads the gel, gets more when it starts to warm to James’ body temperature, but then he wipes his hands and dries them on a towel he brought with him. 

“How is it?” he asks, and James shakes his head, reaches back and presses his fingers to slick skin.

“It’s actually okay,” he says. “I don’t wanna sit at the kitchen island but I could probably manage a couch.”

Steve nods. His thighs are a - James did that - there’s sweat on his chest and he’s hard, too.

“Like what you see?” James asks, and Steve lies down next to him on the bed to kiss him.

“I love you,” Steve answers. 

James can’t help the grin.

“Hmm, love you too.”

And then Steve sits up again, stands up again. He moves the towel next to James.

“Here,” he says, “if you wanna be on your side or your back.”

James nods, gets onto his side and then, carefully, sits up. It’s not bad, actually - it’s like he’s sitting on a metal bench in summer but it’s nothing he can’t handle. The terrycloth helps, too.

“Okay?” Steve says, and James nods, folds his hands in his lap to cover his dick.

“Okay,” James says, and smiles. “What about you, though?”

“I’m okay,” Steve says, turning back with one hand on the chair back, “I’ll take care of it in a little bit,” but James reaches back and snags a pillow, chucks it at Steve.

He gets it nowhere near Steve, but Steve still catches it out of the air and plonks it down on the chair with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” James says. “Are you kiddin’ me, you’re dressed like a wet dream, come jerk off at me.”

Steve blinks very rapidly as though he has sand in his eyes, eyebrows up, and says,

“Jerk off… _at_ you?” a little incredulously.

James nods, rearranges himself on the terrycloth and-

Ah, okay, more careful next time.

Steve isn’t far to start with, the chair’s right by the end of the bed, and he takes the couple of steps forward to stand in front of James. 

James looks up at him, at the wall of skin and muscle that Steve is - the low sling of his waistband, the broad stretch of his chest, the silver tags, that _harness_.

“You know, you could wear that all the time,” James says, “that harness.”

“What, you figure me for a leather-daddy?” Steve says, but his jaw is clenched and his nostrils are flared a little - yeah, this was a good plan.

“I mean no, also I’m not necessarily into that but are you asking if I’d turn it down?”

Steve just has time to look skeptical before James loses patience and starts on Steve’s fly.

“Kid,” Steve says, and he nearly goes for James’ wrist, but James looks up at him.

“I’m fine,” he says. “After, you can take me in the shower and hold me up so I can see how red my ass is, okay? For now you can put your cap voice on and jerk off like it’s part of my punishment.”

Steve bats his hand away anyway.

“If it’s your punishment,” Steve says, “then how about you keep those hands down?”

James drops his mouth open in mock outrage, and then scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, looks up at Steve through his eyelashes.

“I will accept your hands down,” he says, and puts both hands behind his back, “in exchange for the tingle lube.”

Steve stares down at him, narrows his eyes.

“I will adhere to your tingle lube,” Steve says, his voice very low and very rough, “if you let me bring you dinner in bed and take care of your poor ass for the next couple days.”

“Want to shake on it?” James says, and Steve holds out a hand. “I didn’t mean your hand.”

Steve pretends to jab him in the side.

“Behave,” he says. “Or I’ll have to punish you again.”

“Oh please,” James says, “please don’t throw me in the briar patch.”

“You think you’re being smart but I use that one all the time,” Steve says, and he reaches back and grabs the tingle lube.

“Doesn’t that just mean we’re both smart? Hey, wait, can I do it?” James says, as hopefully as he can. “Just, get the lube on you, can I? I was waiting all day for your dick and now I’m not gonna get it-”

Steve passes a hand over his eyes.

“You’ll have to hurry up,” Steve says, “before you’re actually the death of me.”

Steve gets his pretty dick out of his boxers and out of his pants - he hasn’t shaved recently although it hasn’t been too long, so there’s a dark thatch of dark blond hair at the base of the sweet, shallow curve of Steve’s lower belly. 

James scratches his fingernails though it, looks up at Steve and considers angling for a lick or two, but Steve raises an eyebrow in a clear _’I’m waiting,’_ (although his body language is a little close to _‘come on, come on,’_ ). So James wraps his fingers around Steve’s pretty cock where it juts out nice and red and tilts it so it’s pointed straight up, uncapping the lube with a flick of his other thumb.

And then, because he’s a malicious little shit sometimes, he drizzles the lube directly over the slit of Steve’s cock and rubs his foreskin up over it a couple times.

“Oops,” he says, but Steve’s better at this than he is, and he knows because Steve looks at him.

James lets go of Steve’s cock, with all that lovely tingle lube under the foreskin, and Steve just looks at him. And then he holds out a hand.

“I think I’ll have that back,” he says.

James bites his lip and hands it back, and Steve tosses it over his shoulder.

James laughs, and Steve puts both hands on his hips and looks down at his dick. Then he looks at James from under his eyebrows.

“You know I’m trained to withstand torture, right?”

James puts his hands behind his back and tries his best to manage a sultry expression, and Steve just gives him a look.

But then he wraps his fingers around his dick and starts to stroke, and James can’t help but watch. Steve’s hands - he loves Steve’s hands - are like shovels, big and broad with small hairs on the backs of his fingers, dark hair creeping onto the back of his hands, and he makes his fist tight as he strokes it over his dick.

The lube makes noise on his skin, and James leans closer just a little to see better. He likes the way Steve’s foreskin moves over the head, bunching up and stretching back, likes the gathering of fluid at the tip, likes the color it turns at the head. 

“ ‘S pretty,” he says, and Steve sort of laughs breathlessly.

“That what you’re callin’ it?”

“Hmm,” James says, leaning forward a little more, wetting his lips slowly, breathing on it.

“No respect,” Steve breathes, and James smiles, but Steve’s a sensitive guy at the best of times.

And, it turns out, he’s the kind of guy who maybe really likes the kind of lube that makes you feel funny - James is going to have to remember that - ‘cause he kind of breathes a little funny and his face screws up, and then he says,

“Oh,” swallows hard, “ _oh,_ ” body hunching forward, and he grabs out for the chair with the other hand.

James gasps theatrically and ducks, swings his body sideways and Steve, evidently just about as confused as James intended, rides his orgasm out with one hand clenched on the back of the chair, his head back, and his expression so hilariously bemused that James is already giggling.

“What,” he says, over hard breaths, “the hell was that?”

“I can’t believe you don’t know,” James says. “Haven’t you seen the PSAs? ‘If you see Captain America coming—’ ”

The force of the pillow to the face is hard enough to knock him back onto the mattress, but doesn’t hurt and, when he pulls it off, Steve is leaning over him, looming, blocking out the light as James laughs.

“I am _not_ Captain America,” Steve says, very close to James’ mouth.

His free hand wanders, draws a searing path down James’ stomach, down one leg and back up between them and James can’t help arching his back, biting his lip. 

“And I think we’re going to have to find a way to make that stick, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs. “Don’t you?”

**Author's Note:**

> As previously mentioned, please find [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) if you'd like to know the dates of the occurrences in this fic up to part 10. I'll update it every once in a while but I'll try and remember to link it from here on in.
> 
> If you’d like to hear the sirens mentioned in this episode, I’ve done my best to compile the sounds as I imagined them. (If you’d rather not have my noises disrupt your imagination, no hard feelings!) Follow these links (if I’ve done everything right) but please have caution - **I don't know how loud these will be for you, and also they don't open in a new tab** :
> 
> [1)On Duty Avengers ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1KdGTNghERvFGoOU_SOTK6oDdG3OArSi7) /  [2)All Available Avengers](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1jc7ypbs07gPZ-YzTrHIPFkggpP40g_5Y) / [3)Avengers Pager](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1gAQS963UcgQtDCd3ehZIxccUrk5ypj-U) / [4)Fire](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1lTzULmx6LvN-YskO3jNGN6oDh5HrOLvv) / [ 5)Evacuate](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1K49h56BU-6SXqTqPIFGD8YD60f1t4sCD) / [6)Duck and Cover](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1Ii2lh9U8xJV-WWzc4hcxAStFfcK8vMmz)
> 
> And also, those of you who live in or are familiar with New York will be aware that, currently, there are no Early Warning Tornado Sirens that would be available to alert the employees of Stark Tower (which is situated in Manhattan, above Grand Central, where the MetLife building is in our universe). However, a Democratic Assemblyman representing areas of the South Bronx has been campaigning to have Early Warning Tornado Sirens installed in NYC. His name is Marcos A. Crespo, and I thought it only fitting to have future Steve refer to a siren system that indicates Assemblyman Crespo will have found success in his endeavour to keep the people of New York safe.


End file.
